With 40 hours to go before the start of the Great North Run, you’d probably expect that the more experienced runners would be calmly munching penne carbonara washed down with water and isotonics before an early night.
Not oot on the lash in Newcastle Toon, chucking down two hefty G&Ts (the second of which garnished with coriander seeds and napalm laced with chillis) followed by The Hottest Curry Of The Year and lashings of Cobra beer.
No, can’t see Mo signing up for that somehow.
Interesting night’s sleep, waking occasionally with the feeling that I was about to give birth to the central core of the Sun.
Curiously the run this morning was fine, apart from sweating chilli oil and a small amount of clenching once the up-and-down jogging motion had had the predictable effect on what is left of my intestines. I know, too much info.
Repeated yesterday’s Birtley-n-back, with the novelty of running on the other side of the road and a Saturdayesque lack of schoolkids.
(Justin II succeeds Justinian as the Byzantine emperor and refuses subsidies to the Avars; Gao Wei succeeds his father Wu Cheng Di as ruler of the northern Qi dynasty; the Gokturks defeat the Uyghurs in Central Asia)